The Australian Heiress (6 page)

“I know who you are,” the child replied with a mixture of curiosity and aggression.

“Good, then won’t you tell me your name?” Camille didn’t move.

“No, I won’t!” The little girl’s face was very pale, the skin sallow. She wasn’t a particularly pretty child except for the extraordinary eyes. They were brilliant, black, familiar.

“Then I’ll try to guess,” Camille said matter-of-factly. She began moving toward the staircase, careful to act unthreateningly. “Let’s see. You look like a Zara, an Adriana or an India. Something different and dramatic. Something to go with your eyes.”

The child looked surprised, even pleased. “Ah, I’ve made you smile,” Camille said.

The girl’s mouth immediately thinned into a straight line. “I
never
smile.”

“I think I saw a little quirk.”

“No, you didn’t.” This, very decisively. “I want to know what you’re doing here.”

“I’ve come, to see some photographs—of my mother, I believe.” Even as she spoke, Camille was
afraid it was the wrong thing to say. This poor little girl had lost her mother.

“No, you
haven’t,”
the child contradicted angrily. “You want to marry my father.”

Camille couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Not me, little one. Such a thought never entered my mind.”

“You’re not in love with him?”

“No.”

The child watched her very closely. “You have beautiful hair,” she said after a long pause. “Are they your own curls, or is it a perm?”

“My curls are natural. Do you want to feel them?”

“Yes,” the child replied without hesitation.

“May I come and sit beside you?”

“Of course.” The little girl moved, making a place. “This is…this is…” She reached out slowly and began to twirl a length of Camille’s hair, examining it critically.

“All different colors?”

“It’s like the flush on an apricot.”

“That’s nice.” Camille was surprised.

“I read it about a princess in one of my storybooks. I’m ugly.”

“Hardly.” Camille couldn’t possibly agree. “Whyever would you say that?”

The child tossed the lock of Camille’s hair away. “I
am.
That’s why.”

”
I
don’t think so and I’m entitled to my opinion. You have magnificent eyes.”

“I’m an ugly duck,” the child answered, shooting a penetrating ages-old look into Camille’s eyes.

Camille leaned closer. “Don’t you like ducks?
I
do. Where
is
an ugly duck? You tell me.”

The little girl twisted her hands together. “My mommy was beautiful.”

“I’m sure she was.” Camille dared to lay her hand over the child’s.

The little girl didn’t reject it. “My daddy is very handsome and important.”

“Yes, he is,” Camille agreed. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

“Melissa,” the child said, sounding ferocious.

“How do you do, Melissa?” Camille’s voice was tender.

“I don’t like my name.”

Camille looked at the little girl and the little girl looked back at her. Both of them knew the name didn’t suit her. “So what’s your second name?” Camille asked.

“Claudia, after my great-grandmother. She was an Italian
contessa.”
This flowed out impressively.

“Why, that’s splendid!” Camille scooped up the child’s fingers. “I’ve been to Italy. Visited art galleries and La Scala, the famous opera house. I did lots of shopping, too. Do you like shopping?”

The little girl stared at her. “I’m not allowed to go shopping,” she said in a husky whisper. “Miss Larkins takes me to school. Miss Larkins brings me home. I hate all the mean things she does to me.”

“Oh, dear. What exactly has she done?”

Melissa crossed her legs like a little Buddha. “Tons of things. Don’t worry. She hates me, too. She says I’m a very complex child. One of these days I’m going to kill her.”

Camille sucked in her breath. The child could just as well have said,
One of these days Miss Larkins and
I are going to play tennis.
“But, Melissa, it’s very wrong to want to kill someone.”

Melissa started banging her bony little knees together. “I said I
want
to kill her. I know I
can’t.”

Camille was relieved. “We all say things from time to time we don’t mean.” Her voice was soothing. “It’s a way of getting rid of our anger.”

“Oh, I mean it all right!” Melissa sounded very sure. “She thinks I’m a dummy. When she speaks to me in front of Daddy, she’s pretends to be nice. But when it’s just us, she’s nasty.”

Camille studied the child carefully. For some reason she believed her. “Have you told your daddy this?”

“No.” Melissa shook her head. “It would only make things worse. Nannies won’t stay with me.” She paused. “I’ve run away a couple of times.”

Camille wasn’t surprised by this announcement. “Oh, where?”

“Quite a way!” Melissa crowed with remembered triumph. “I get so mad. Oh, why can’t I be happy?” The child sighed as if she had an oppressive weight on her shoulders.

“We’ll have to find a few things to
make
you happy.” Camille drew an unresisting Melissa against her shoulder. Whether the child approved of this new development or not was hard to say, but she didn’t draw away. “What about getting rid of this big heavy braid for a start? It could be draining your strength. Your hair’s curly. Short, it would frame your face. Make you feel lighter and brighter.”

“It won’t happen,” Melissa said flatly. “Braids are tidy.”

“That’s all very well, but they
can
look dreary.”

“Nothing can make me look pretty.” Melissa puckered her face into a fierce scowl. “It’s really a tremendous pity,” she added in an uncannily adult voice. “Clare said that. She brings me pencils and paper to draw with. Miss Larkins thinks she’s wonderful. So rich and glamorous!” More imitating the adult tone. “I think they’re both nasty people.”

They might well be, Camille thought. “Have you any pets?” she asked, trying to distract this unhappy and precocious little girl. For only six she had an excellent command of language.

Melissa’s expression was smeared by memory. “I had a kitten, but Miss Larkins said I was hurting him. That was a lie. I wasn’t. I only put him in my toy box because Miss Larkins was coming. Salty bothered her. She used to take a swipe at him if he ever sat on the sofa.”

“And where is Salty now?” Camille suspected the worst.

“They blamed
me
because he ran away.” The child’s voice was shrill. “He
didn’t
run away.
She
got rid of him. She
despised
Salty. He
was
a bit ugly. One eye was white and the other was black.”

“Why didn’t you call him Pepper or Patchy?”

“I was thinking about calling him Pepper when he disappeared. Miss Larkins told Daddy it would be better if we waited a while before I got another pet.”

“Daddy didn’t
agree,
did he?” Camille’s harsh feelings about Nick Lombard almost broke through.

“Daddy’s idea of pets are big black dogs. He told me we’d talk about getting another kitten again.”

“So he didn’t believe your story?”

“I didn’t tell it very well,” Melissa said loyally.
“She
wouldn’t leave us alone. Daddy wouldn’t like me to hurt an animal. As if I ever would. I like animals lots more than people.”

“All the more reason to get to the bottom of what happened to your kitten,” Camille said.

“My mother
adored
me,” Melissa said out of the blue. “She said I was the most beautiful girl in the world. Her precious darling. She loved me to bits.”

“I’m sure she did.” Camille felt strangely upset For herself. For the child. “You haven’t lost her altogether. You could speak to her in your prayers. Speak to God. Tell Him how you feel.”

“I have bad feelings about God,” Melissa said. “He’s not kind. He’s dreadful.”

Camille tried desperately to come up with the right words. “It must seem so, Melissa, with all the suffering in the world. Perhaps God can’t do all that much about
this
world. But He’s promised something better. Maybe the answer is inside ourselves. All of us have to weather the storms of life. I lost my mother when I was your age.”

“Did you?” Melissa looked at Camille very closely as though trying to spot a falsehood.

“Would I lie to you?”

“I think…no. Were you angry?”

“Oh, yes.” Camille nodded her head emphatically. “The anger takes a while to go. It’s important to remember Mommy is safe with God, who loves her.”

“It’s so quiet now,” Melissa said with a sigh. “She used to laugh and laugh. She was at parties all the time. Daddy and Mommy knew a million people.”

“I bet they did.” This child was breaking her heart.
She tried to change the subject. “Looking at you, I would say you’re very smart.”

Melissa gave an odd little smile. “Miss Larkins thinks I’m an airhead. So do the kids at school. Only that’s not what’s the matter with me.”

“Could you tell me what is then? I’m really interested.”

Melissa’s small thin body tensed. “I’m smart enough to do anything I want, only I don’t want to
do
anything. Isn’t that awful?”

“I can understand it, Melissa,” Camille said after a pause. “You’ve been very sad because you’ve lost your mommy. You need time for things to feel right again. We each have to work out our path in life. Even little girls like you. Being clever isn’t enough.
You
can decide to hide all your smartness. Or you can show it and make the wrong opinions go away. You can start working to show Daddy, your teacher, Miss Larkins and the other children at school just how clever and capable you really are.
You
have to decide which is the best way for you. Something good always comes of striving. Do you know what striving means?”

Melissa nodded. “What Daddy has been doing for a long time. Working very hard.”

Indeed, her Daddy
had
been working very hard— to bring Harry to his knees, Camille thought.

“Sometimes I’m afraid of being clever,” Melissa confided. “I’m different enough already.”

Troubled, Camille asked, “In what way?” Obviously Melissa was concealing her capacities.

“I’m ugly and I fly into tantrums. I’m a bad person. I’m a sneak and I’m secretive. I tell lies. I’m spoiled rotten.”

With so many attacks on her, no wonder she was striking out in self-defense. “Oh, Melissa, this is terrible! You didn’t make all this up. Who’s accused you of such things?”

Melissa wrenched her fine lawn nightgown over her knees. “It was a terrible shock for Mommy to have such an ugly daughter,” she said, her voice grim.

Camille was almost too distressed to answer. “But you said your Mommy adored you.”

“Oh, yes, she called me her precious princess. She always wanted me beside her. Her lovely little girl. One day I heard Miss Larkins and Clare talking. They were talking about me, so I hid behind the sofa. Miss Larkins said those things. Clare said that how I got to be so very plain she’d never know. She loves Daddy, I’m sure. She’s supposed to be a friend, but I know better. Daddy is so handsome. Everyone thinks so. Mommy was beautiful. I’m a big disappointment.”

“No, that’s not true!” Anger caught in Camille’s throat. “Your father—”

“Please
don’t do anything to upset Daddy,” Melissa interrupted, suddenly looking worried. “Let them talk. My mother loved me a lot, I know.”

So engrossed were Camille and Melissa that they failed to see the woman who’d come to the door.

“So this is where you are, Melissa,” she said, thoroughly startling them.

The child yelled alarmingly, “Go away! I’m talking to my friend!”

The woman ignored that and walked into the library. She was fortyish, attractive and competent-looking. “I don’t know where to begin with this child.” She gave Camille a conspiratorial smile. “For
such a little girl she certainly makes her presence felt.”

There must be answers to that, Camille thought. She stood up, drawing Melissa with her. “You must be Miss Larkins. I’m Camille Guilford.”

“Of course.” The woman shook her head. “I recognized you from your photographs. It’s amazing how Melissa manages to get out of her room.”

“Surely through the door,” Camille said.

“She
locks me in.” Melissa looked to Camille for support. “I hate getting locked in.”

“I would jolly well think so,” Camille murmured.

“It’s only for a short time, Miss Guilford,” the woman said in a brisk don’t-mess-with-me voice. “I don’t think you know just how naughty Melissa can be.”

And you’re no Mary Poppins, either,
Camille thought, but remained silent, unwilling to interfere. It would only confuse and complicate the situation. She was a guest in the house for one evening only. Which was unfortunate in a way, for she and the child had so swiftly found a common chord.

“Come along, now, dear.” Miss Larkins held out her hand. “It’s past your bedtime.”

“I want Camille to take me up,” Melissa said rocking back and forth agitatedly on her heels.

“Say good-night to Miss Guilford, dear.” Miss Larkins became firmer. “She has things to do.”

“It’s no problem.” Camille tightened her grip on the now trembling child’s hand. “I’d like to see Melissa’s room.”

“My room—
I
don’t like it at all.” Melissa lifted her head, brilliant black eyes brimming.

“Don’t you?” Camille looked down at her in consternation.

“What did I tell you?” Miss Larkins exclaimed. “Any other little girl would
love
your bedroom.”

“I
hate
it!” Melissa shouted.

“Let’s go see it, shall we?” Camille said calmly.

“I really would appreciate it, Miss Guilford, if you didn’t.”

Camille, her Ice Princess expression firmly in place, turned to the woman. “May I ask why not?”

“It does the child no good to be indulged,” the woman said.

“I can’t think for one minute that taking her up to bed falls into that category. I take full responsibility, Miss Larkins.”

They ran into Nick Lombard in the upper gallery of the house. He had changed his suit for dark gray slacks and a navy blazer with a blue open-necked shirt beneath. He looked younger, almost carefree, his fine head of hair curling crisply from the shower.